Category: Mountain Culture

After this picture was taken, Narcisse had the misfortune of skiing into a crevasse-like chasm created by creep of the entire snowpack. He fell eight feet onto the wet grass at the bottom of the crevasse. He landed on the point of his shoulder, which separated, and had to be reduced on the spot by one of the guides, who, in his turn, had to churn uphill, sidestepping rapidly through the deep snow to reach him.

I, for my part, skied too close to a tree-well, collapsed the shoulder of the well, and tumbled out of sight and head first into the snow-free column of air next to the trunk, one ski below, with a twist in one ankle. With a teeth-clenched lunge I was able to reach one binding and release it, only to find myself hanging upside-down from the ski above me, dangling by an Arlberg strap and the full length of the front-throw cable, which had come free of its side-hitches.

I was able to pull myself upward slowly and carefully, hand over hand, until I could reach the ski itself. Then I hauled the other ski up from below, and began to build a platform using both skis, which might be able to support my full weight. I could hear the sounds of the second group skiing past, but realized that I would never be able to make myself heard through the thickness of the snowpack, even though I could hear them.

As I thrashed around with my skis, I was suddenly inundated by a cascade from above which threatened to choke off both air and light. At first I thought it must have been some sort of slide set off by passing skiers, but when it finally stopped, I could tell it was caused by one of those enormous, snow-burdened branches above me, unloading its full weight all at once. Coughing and spitting, I first knelt, then stood up on my shaky skis, and began to climb out of the hole.

I knew that the first group, of which I had been a member, was long-gone down the hill, and that the second group, although they had just been here, was also not waiting for anyone. If I could follow just the right set of tracks, at least I could hope to get to where the helicopter had been, even if it in fact was not still there.

It was there, alright, with everybody aboard except for a couple of the guides. I had been in the fast group, and then the slow group, and then the fast group again. Now they took me aside and told me that they had decided that, if I wanted to continue to ski the way that I skied, on the skis that I skied on, that I should get my own helicopter, and my own ski guide.

Understanding beer style is important to understanding the craft brewing industry. Amongst other things, defining the style of beer that a bottle contains helps consumers to choose products that meet their fancy, and allows breweries track sales and trends. In mid-2008, a report published by the Brewers Association found that, for the first time in the craft brewing industry, sales of pale ale were eclipsed by sales of seasonal releases. This was seen as evidence that, as consumers have become more beer-savvy and adventurous in their tastes, they increasingly look for a wider variety of beer to enjoy.

Recognizing this, brewers have jumped at the opportunity to broaden their style portfolio and to bolster their sales with small-batch brews of limited release ales and lagers designed to fit the season. While many smaller breweries will release a uniquely named seasonal, increasingly, the larger production brew houses have gone to a more generic format named for the season. Many varieties of “summer ale” abound, with increasing examples of “spring” and “fall” suds slowly making their appearance on the shelf each year. But by far the most ubiquitous and varied seasonal in the brewing calendar is the enigmatic Christmas Brew.

With roots stretching back to the time of legend and days of yore, these brews routinely defy classification, blending styles, bending rules and pushing boundaries (going higher?). The most laced-down of the group describe themselves as porters or brown ales, with most calling the murky realms of olde ale and strong ale home, or simply defying traditional classification altogether by claiming the bastard title of winter warmer. In general, Christmas brews start life with a high gravity (sugar content) and are then fermented with an ale yeast, finishing out heavier in body, darker in color, sweeter on the tongue and containing more alcohol than the average beer. They are the kind of thing you might want to savor on a cold evening after a day on the slopes, and tend to display their full flavor profile when consumed slightly warm. Some contain spices, herbs or fruit, with spruce-tips, juniper berries, holiday spices, chocolate and raspberry being fairly common additions. With all this variety, the only means of better understanding this phenomenon is to try them out. For reference, a few personal favorites that should be widely available across the West are listed here.

In the olde ale style, Avery Old Jubilation, produced by Avery Brewing Co. in Boulder has been a seasonal favorite of mine for over ten years. It presents a bold toffee flavor, blended with a note of currant from the hops. Mahogany in the glass, this one comes in at 8.3% abv. Though brewed since 1995, Hibernation Ale, from Great Divide Brewing Co. in Denver only crossed my radar last year. Perhaps a better example of the Olde Ale style than Avery’s offering, one gulp of this elixir presents a complex series of flavors in the mouth, with a good degree of warmth from the alcohol (8.7% abv) and a solid hop finish. Adding a completely different twist, Alaskan Brewing Co. tapped into tradition dating back to the 1700s and brews their Winter Ale with the addition of Sitka Spruce tips. The result is an invigorating boost to the piney flavors from the hops, balanced by the dark and sweet character of the underlying beer.

In the marketing material for their Christmas Ale, Breckenridge Brewing Co. states that “The chill of a Colorado high-country winter calls for a beer with extra flavor and strength.” (Fuckin-A to that!) This perennially impressive release in the strong ale category heeds this call, weighing in at a hefty 7.4% abv with a luscious malt backbone to support all that delicious alcohol. Wassail Ale, brewed by Full Sail Brewing Co. in Hood River, OR, is a pleasantly hoppy experience, and would be a good choice if you prefer Pale Ales or IPA-style beer. They have also released a new offering this season, Session Fest, which will be packaged in the same 11-oz. stubby bottles the other Session styles come in. Also new for 2011 is Snow Day, from New Belgium Brewing Co. I initially assumed that this was a rebranding of the 2 Below seasonal from years past, and was happy to learn that it is, in fact, a new recipe based on a malt known as “Midnight Wheat.” 2 Below nearly saved my life while stranded at Denver International over the holidaze a few years ago, (the New Belgium bar sits at the end of the concourse that handles regional flights to the mountains of Colorado), and hopefully Snow Day is a worthy replacement.

Erich Hennig lives and works in Durango, CO, where he generally rocks it. Got a Christmas Brew that we should know about? Drop a note to beer@mountaingazette.com

“I’m not religious, but church music is the shit,” a friend whispered in a confessional tone over his beer. “The chord changes are intricately complex and it’s timeless. That’s why there have been Christmas carols since Henry the VIII. He even wrote some of them, or his court musicians did. That’s where ‘Greensleeves’ came from. The biggest problem I have is that it starts too early … like the week before Thanksgiving and then it’s like January 14th and you’re still fucking hearing it in grocery stores. That sucks. But when you hear the bell choir and you hear the ‘falalalala,’ it’s good cheer. I love it. Dylan came out with a Christmas album (‘Christmas in the Heart’). It’s terrible.” He made a face like he had just eaten blood pudding thinking it was chocolate. Yes, ’tis the season for that irksome, repetitive, mind-deadening holiday music, endless Christmas canticles blared across the loudspeakers at ski resorts and pouring out of restaurants and shops, permeating the streets and oozing up from the powdery whiteness of an otherwise perfect day.

It may be somewhat of a Scrooge attitude, but as hard as some of us try to ignore it, Christmas music won’t go away. If you ever actually liked Christmas music, by the time the celebrated Eve rolls around, you loathe hearing another verse of what has become insipid muzak droning out seasonal cheeriness. Call it the Christmas creep — whereas the assault used to start in early December but has now slipped into the day after Halloween. It is why many of us pay homage to Saint Steve for bringing us the iPod and the choice of a night silent of the inanity of granny getting run over by reindeer, or the looping of high-pitched androgynous voices, of sleigh bells ringing or little drummer boys who have nothing to do with rock-and-roll or Christmas for that matter. Even though Billy Idol oddly snarled out an album of traditional Christmas carols, The Boss electrified Santa Claus coming to town and plenty of indie and alternative bands startled new life into old hymns, there are actually a few holiday scores that especially warm the cockles … the ones you find yourself inexplicably whistling in July on a deep wilderness hike. The Grinch. Charlie Brown. But most notably, John Denver and the Muppets.

With just one song, John Denver did more to uplift the Yuletide spirit of more folk all over the country than a bowl full of wassail; he opened his nationally broadcast show in 1988, “Christmas in Aspen,” with one of his favorite Christmas songs, “Rocky Mountain High,” the tune capable of invoking euphoric mountain pride and responsible for relocating generations of happiness seekers to the beauty of the Rockies. The seasonal show was the highest-rated show for the ABC network at that time, watched by more than 60 million people.

John’s voice had the perfect cadence for traditional carols and his broad smile was the epitome of kid on Christmas morning. Although he made his “Rocky Mountain Christmas” album in 1975, which included the non-traditional “Please Daddy (Don’t Get Drunk This Christmas),” “Aspenglow” and “Christmas for Cowboys,” the collaboration with Jim Henson’s Muppets in the 1979 “A Christmas Together” is truly the playful stuff that transcends the holiday season drollery. Nothing is more exhilarating than Animal screaming, “Run run, reindeer!” in “Little Saint Nick,” written and originally recorded by the Beach Boys (Wilson/Love) in 1963 and played by the Muppets’ band, Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem. There’s a couple of John’s originals as well, such as “A Baby Just Like You,” in which his son Zachary is woven into the lyrics but the song was written for Frank Sinatra, and “Alfie The Christmas Tree,” which he said was inspired largely by the Muppets.

The cast of Muppets harmonizes well with John, who naturally fits right in with a diva pig, frogs, long-snouted creatures and feather-headed sax players. The album was re-released in 1996, but was sorely missing three integral songs — “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” “When the River Meets the Sea” and “Little Saint Nick” — much to the disappointment of fans. Luckily, the faux pas was corrected in 2006 when the CD was again released in its platinum-certified original version with all 13 songs. Even though the CD and digital download have been available through Windstar Records, the vinyl had been out of print for a long time when John Denver’s estate decided to release a Kermit green edition in vinyl this year. Yes, this album is enhanced in frog green (and available exclusively from Urban Outfitters). The original LP inspired the exceedingly popular TV production of the same name in 1979, which, for some reason, has never been available in VHS or DVD to the public (but can be viewed in segments on youtube.com). In 1990, John also recorded the album “Christmas Like a Lullaby,” with more religious tunes. And just in case you were thinking you’ve heard all of John’s recordings before his fatal plane crash of 1997, this past October, John’s estate announced a series of previously unreleased live recordings. The first is digitally mastered from a 1990 concert in Saratoga Springs, N.Y., and available as digital downloads from johndenver.com.

John’s penchant for introducing people to his adopted Aspen paradise extended to Muppets and, in 1983, he brought his close friend Jim Henson and his eclectic clan of creatures westward to film a campout under the gaze of the Maroon Bells (John: “The mosquitoes aren’t bad.” Kermit: “Aren’t bad? They’re delicious!”). The bedazzled gang donned classic plaid flannel shirts and puffy down vests for the 50-minute TV musical special, “Rocky Mountain Holiday” (still available on DVD).

John once said, “There’s one piece of advice my dad gave me when he dropped me off at college. He said, ‘You’ve got the talent. You can sing and play guitar. That doesn’t make you any better than anyone else.’” What made John more admirable than many though was how he used his well earned fame, calling attention to environmental issues, sustainable living, fighting homelessness and world hunger, especially where it concerned children, a supporter of space exploration and NASA and, of course, he testified in front of Congress in 1985 to protest the Washington Wives’ attempt at censorship in music. Earlier, he had been forced to defend “Rocky Mountain High” as a song about the natural bliss of being in the wilderness with friends around a campfire as opposed to a drug-induced high. The song was granted legislative status as Colorado’s second state song in 2007, after the 1915 “Where Columbines Grow.”

If you dread the Christmas musical inundation, but want to pump up the holiday spirit, John Denver and the Muppets “Christmas Together” is the one album to have for dancing around Yule fire … far out!

Dawne Belloise is a freelance writer, photographer, traveler and vocalist whose huge Italian family sang the entire score of “Guys and Dolls” and “Westside Story” on Christmas Eve. After hearing “Rocky Mountain High,” she moved to a garage on a back alley in Crested Butte. dbelloise@gmail.com

Greensky Bluegrass brings all the grit and attitude of a whiskey-soaked card game to its bluegrass-spiked-with-rock-‘n’-roll sound. The Michigan crew has been carting its dobro, banjo, guitar, bass and mandolin around the country for 11 years and counting, but the guys didn’t get bearish on green rooms until a gig in Crested Butte.

Aside from the usual terror anyone would face driving over Red Mountain Pass in a van towing a trailer amidst a storm that dumped three feet of snow — the worst part being they survived but couldn’t ski it due to their demanding tour schedule — Greensky Bluegrass got an unexpected dose of Colorado’s wild nature once they reached their venue.

After a killer first set at The Eldo, the boys headed down to the ground-level green room “to do everything you think bands do at set break,” said dobro player Anders Beck.

Twenty minutes later, the band sauntered toward the door with beers and instruments in hand — none of which could immediately help them with what they encountered next.

Seems a black bear wanted in on the green-room action.

Banjo player Mike Bont was the first to open the door and realize he was “literally face to face with a very large black bear — who wanted to come in for tequila shots, I assume,” Beck said. “Though the bear looked about as freaked out as us at the moment, you’ve probably never seen Greensky Bluegrass move so quickly in one direction. Drinks spilled, instruments clanked together in strange dissonant harmonies and the door slammed shut — quickly.”

But the bear wasn’t shushed away easily; the boys had to conjure up a heap of noise, and to this day they’re pretty sure it was the banjo that ultimately made the curious bear scuttle down the river path so the musicians could head upstairs and continue the show.

“I don’t remember what we played that night, but I certainly remember that set break,” Beck said. “(It was) the biggest bear we had ever seen, and it was pretty damn scary.”

Kimberly Nicoletti hasn’t encountered a bear in her yard since 2004, but her otherwise intelligent American Eskimo ran up to the moose that frequented her yard this May. Needless to say, human intervention was required when the moose lowered its antlers in response to the barking dog, and she could’ve really used a banjo. While not busy protecting her two little dogs from moose and coyotes, Kimberly acts as the A&E editor at the Summit Daily News.

Colorado’s other poetically notorious David would be David Mason, the state’s latest poet laureate, named by Gov. Ritter several years ago. A professor at Colorado College, Mason has been living up to a promise to visit every county in the state (including a tour this fall around the Western Slope). He’s written criticism, loves to perform, has won a number of awards, boasts a classic narrative verse poem in Ludlow (Red Hen Press, Pasadena, CA, 2007) and is featured in this month’s Way of the Mountain.— Art Goodtimes

I Hear the Guitar

The shadow of a bat
across my page at night
is lighter than a thought
and just as late.

I drink to the guitar
and passing girls who wear
hibiscus in their hair,
scenting the air.

— David Mason, Colorado Poet LaureateManitou Springs

Written While Hiking

mountain skunk taunting
now all our remembrances
honor aftershocks

— Carol BellFt. Collins

Running Tanka

Running on the long
dirt road, it is four miles
before my mind
slows down enough
to join my body.

— Rosemerry Wahtola TrommerPlacerville

Postcard

Poetry is a
silly business.

Unnecessary
& complete.

— Jack MuellerLog Hill Village

Waking Life

The indentation
of a trail
cut through snow.

The dark bark
of pines
flocked with white.

The stare of
a deer
before its leap.

A canvas
of waking life
no museum can hold.

— Linda KellerDenver

What the Hopi Said

A Hopi Indian once said
to hop over the Acropolis
with an Arizona spruce branch
held tightly in your hand
waving on Kachina Spirits
of the San Francisco Peaks
saying the Greeks need rain
since all their gods are dead.

These are last year’s rental skis, dumped on the ski show market to clear current stock, a precursor event to the modern disposable ski. Santa, please don’t send me any 150s or 165s, even if they’re shaped, fat, mid-fat, wide, double-ended, reverse-cambered, with duck-foot tips, and split-tails. The Graduated Length Method died because no one ever graduated. Why bother to go to First Grade when Kindergarten is so much fun?

I once demo’d a pair of 205 Miller Softs, and my first turn was a 360. Gymnastics and stunts do not skiing make. I finally got a pair of 207 VR-7s, but just for teaching. The Luddites did have a point, you know. Long skis, wooden boats and B&W film, that’s my bumpersticker. A Jeep is my vehicle, and a stick-shift is my drive.

23 Feet

Twenty-five-year-old filmmaker Allie Bombach and two friends set out with their 23-foot 1970 Airstream trailer to find a community they knew was out there: People living simply in the American West, giving up the comforts of what we think is “home” in order to be closer to their passions in the outdoors. “23 Feet” profiles four characters living simple lives in California, Utah and Oregon, and tells the story of the filmmakers’ journey to find those lives. Out of the four characters profiled, Yosemite legend Ron Kauk is a definite highlight — years of living in and around Yosemite have helped him shape his philosophy of living, and listening to him speak from his campsite in Tuolumne Meadows, you can’t help but wish you could sell all your stuff and move in next door to him. Maybe even more fun than the film itself was the four-month tour to premiere the film: Five women packed into the 23-foot Airstream to drive all over the West and screen the film, outdoors, in towns in Utah, Arizona, California and Oregon. In the outdoor film genre, we’ve got plenty of glamorous movies that treat our outdoor passions as an end in themselves — “23 Feet” is the first work of a refreshing new voice that looks deeper than the face value of our pastimes, and looks for a soul. Bad news is the tour is over — good news is the DVD is now for sale.
$15, redreelvideo.com

Oh, Ranger! ParkFinder Mobile App

On the last day of the summer Outdoor Retailer show, someone next to me handed me a business card with details on how to download the Oh, Ranger! ParkFinder mobile app. It was the best free thing I got the entire trade show. That night, I drove north from Salt Lake City, the start of a month of living out of my car, camping and climbing. The free app gives the user a guide to parks all over the United States, searchable by activity. Most of the time, I used it to find places to camp for the night after driving all day, and having a map of all the available campsites within a few minutes of my current location was invaluable. Less adventurous? Maybe. But how cool is the idea of taking off on a road trip with nothing but a smart phone in your pocket? The app finds parks based on things to do — camping, cycling, climbing, hunting, fishing, hiking, bird watching, et cetera, and uses your phone’s maps application to show all parks in the area with those activities. The price — free — can’t be beat. Now, if they could just make an app that showed secluded places to sleep in my car, and best places to find $5 showers.ohranger.com

Steve Dressler, Head Brewer at Sierra Nevada Brewing Co., puts a fine pour on a glass of Life & Limb.

We live in rad times. Proof of this can be found on the shelves of any decent liquor store, where the once homogeneous wall of light, and slightly less light beer, forced from the bowels of some cavernous monstrosity in St. Louis or Milwaukee, has been supplanted by a cornucopia of fresh, locally produced brews in an ever-widening selection of styles. Grab any two bottles of craft beer and you will find that, like snowflakes, each is unique. So too are the institutions that produce and sell these wonderful products.

Variety is the spice of life, and as with the beer they produce, craft brewers tend to create facilities that reflect personal style, creativity and marketing in equal parts. For the intrepid beer aficionado, intent on consuming new styles of beer in different places, the subtleties that differentiate one from the next can best be illustrated by breaking them into four categories, that of production brewery, the stalwart brewpub, the up-and-coming nanobrewery and the beer bar.

Production breweries, the workhorses of the craft industry, are primarily focused on producing volumes of beer for packaged distribution to the consumer. They hide themselves in light industrial areas across the West, in places where loading docks and forklifts are the norm. Despite this, the taprooms that operate in these facilities offer a chance to enjoy the freshest possible pints of product, while taking in the atmosphere of the place where it is made. Across Colorado, the number of these facilities that have evolved is staggering, with giants such as New Belgium, Lefthand, Avery and Odell’s in the Front Range being joined across the state by Ska, Oskar’s, Durango Brewing, Crazy Mountain and Telluride Brewing, to name just a few. I have many fond memories of visits to brewery taprooms, like riding to Lefthand for growlers on Saturday, the old roof-deck at Ska and not being able to find Avery on bike after sitting at Twisted Pine for a couple of hours (it’s just off of Arapaho).

While production breweries dominate annual production of craft brew by volume, by far the widest scope of small-batch beer comes from your favorite local brewpub, an American icon. These span the spectrum of style, but generally pair beer produced on premise (or elsewhere, in some cases) with a restaurant business. This is no easy task, as the two halves of the business, beer and food, operate on different frequencies. With the two in synch, the brewpub can function like the human brain, with each hemisphere specializing in the tasks that it is best suited to, and producing better results as a system than either half could alone. This delicate balance is rare, and finding really kick-ass beer paired with good food and service is not always a given. Style combinations vary widely, from great brew and steaks at Chama River Brewing in Albuquerque, NM, to fine pints and pizza at Amica’s in Salida, CO. Some brewpubs, like Tommyknocker in Idaho Springs, CO, have managed to pull off the triple crown of brewing feats, operating a brewpub and distributing beer on a wide scale. Increasing numbers of followers are coming to market every day, and finding offerings on the shelf from Wynkoop, Steamworks, Pug Ryan’s, Silverton and Eddyline are a real treat.

By far the newest entrant to craft brewing is the nanobrewery. While definitions vary, the “nano” generally produces modest amounts of beer in a few styles on a small-commercial or large home-built system. Run by brewers that may be operating part time, they distinguish themselves by having total freedom as to the styles of beer they produce, the volumes or changes they make from batch to batch. In essence, brewing at this scale represents the freest from of commercial brewing, meeting the requirements for legal sale, while flying under many of the constraints to variation that volume production introduces. A couple of my favorites are the Ourayle House in Ouray, CO, and Revolution Brewing out in Paonia, CO. The number of nanos out there is growing every day, and lacking large marketing budgets, sometimes these are hard for the intrepid beer writer to discover. Any tips as to where I can find these businesses flourishing and their beer flowing would be greatly appreciated.

And last, but certainly not least, for sheer quantity of beer styles on tap, one must give credit to the beer bar owner/operator. Wither an independent like Lady Falconburgh’s in Durango, CO, with 40 taps featuring selections both local and international, or a “captive” beer bar, like the (Breckenridge Brewery) Ale House in Grand Junction, serving both Breck beers and a strong selection of guest taps, nowhere else can whim and fancy for beer in varying style be met on such an uncompromising scale.

Enthusiastic homebrewer Erich Hennig lives and works in Durango, CO. Drop him a note at beer@mountaingazette.com